This is the second oldest poem I still have, I think, or Dry Golden is the second oldest, really not sure. However, it’s one of the oldest if not the oldest. The event on the train happened in 1995. I worked in London at the time and hated it. Going home was such joy. I am not sure the year the poem was written.
The train rattled through the golden green countryside
The sun was washing the colours bright
Of the green leaves and huge golden fields
Nothing felt better than bathing in the joy
Of leaving the city of noise and pollution
Back into the air and sun.
Leaving behind the dead, and living again
The heat of the carriage and the windows wide
Feeling the air rush in
For a moment I was free, escaping
And I would convince myself of freedom
In the beauty of this moment
Heading to walk by the flowers alongside the path
As I would leave the train and the sun drenched station
Feeling joy at the wonder of creation
For a great moment which would soon be over
And I would arrive at my destination
And slowly forget this time in which
I felt I was living more than ever before.